


Love, Actually.

by Jo (mindsofiron)



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Love Actually AU, ask me if i care, it's not christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindsofiron/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas and Clint and Natasha get a visitor while cuddling on the couch being ridiculously domestic and fluffy. Tasha deals with her past and present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Actually.

**Author's Note:**

> You know that scene in Love, Actually where this dude turns up at Keira Knightley's house and tells her he loves her? Yeah, I decided I had to do an AU in it. Established Clint/Natasha, past James/Tasha

It’s the first Christmas in a few years that they’re both on a break together, and if he thinks about it properly, Clint knows that the Saving The World nonsense has been a pretty good trump card to pull out and flash in Fury’s face when they need something. After finding the Winter Soldier – James…Bucky…Clint likes the guy enough; isn’t sure what he wants to call him yet – he and Natasha have gone through a rough patch or two because her past has been resurrected and Clint hasn’t been sure of his place…

 

He is now, though. He thinks. They haven’t addressed it head-on, and he’s just contented himself with trusting whole-heartedly. Besides, it’s Christmas, and at Christmas hearts are softer and warmer, and he’s cuddling on the couch with Natasha, and they’re watching a whole host of romantic comedies. They’re currently on _Friends with Benefits_ watching Kunis and Timberlake fight on a rooftop, when the doorbell rings. Natasha unravels from his arms and murmurs, “I’ll get that,” while they leave the movie playing.

 

-

 

When she swings the door open, expecting Steve or Pepper (Stark would land on their goddamn roof without an announcement), she sees James holding a bunch of placards and recognises the movie reference immediately – Steve must have been updating him on 20th century references. This is from _Love, Actually_. She already knows what’s coming. She lets her shoulders drop into a relaxed stance.

 

“Who is it?” Clint yells from upstairs.

 

James raises an eyebrow at her.

 

“Old friend – just give me a moment!” Natasha calls back.

 

-

 

He has an inkling of who it is, but he isn’t worried. The movie rolls on and Clint barely spares a thought at what’s happening at his front door because he trusts Natasha, and he’s beginning to give Bucky a chance; he wants to be friends with the guy.

 

-

 

James is flipping the placards, and they’re cheesy but they make her want to tear up. They’ve never had the priviledge of time, of openness and expressiveness, and this is sweet and makes her nostalgic for the past – but then she recognises that emotion for what it is and recognises, too, that it is not love – not in the present. She loves him with a _past_ love, the kind that lingers like sand on the shore, in the crest of a wave, colouring everything slightly ceaseless, but without eclipsing all else.

 

The last one reads, _my wasted heart will love you until the end of time_.

 

She smiles sadly at him, says, “Merry christmas, James,” in a voice that is parched as he feels, a desert in the dark, coloured with the things she hopes he hears. In a wistful, sorrowful manner that makes her ache, he tilts his lips up at her, and then he turns to leave.

 

Before he can, she touches her fingers to his arm – the strong one, the human one, that held her when she broke in the Red Room and reminded her that there was a real, human world that she belonged to – and presses a kiss to his mouth.

 

It’s soft, sweet and chaste, something like the past, but only a simulacrum that cannot bring back what was. When they part his lips are pulled tight and his eyes glimmer, but he turns and walks into the street to the beat of a carol that singers are singing somewhere in the neighbourhood.

 

She turns and shuts the door, making her way up the stairs to Clint. He turns and looks expectantly at her when she sinks down beside him.

 

“Thanks for giving me space,” she says, quiet gratitude lacing her voice, “It was James.”

 

“He loves you,” Clint says simply, not a question but a statement.

 

She nods, dropping her gaze.

 

“I do too,” he can’t help making it about himself in the next sentence, she knows, he’s always been insecure about his place with her; thinks himself unworthy of her sometimes when she can see so clearly, it’s really the other way around.

 

“I love him,” she says, watches carefully as his face remains straight while his heart, she’s aware, drops in his chest, “I always will. He’s – he taught me the emotion…”

 

Clint nods, cuts his gaze from hers and pauses the movie playing in the background.

 

“But you showed me that it was possible again, when I’d forgotten and given up on it – on feeling at all. You’re my present, my here and now, and I love you. I love you now,” she strains hoarsely, insistent and urgent, hoping that he feels how much she means it – sometimes words just aren’t enough at all.

 

-

 

He takes her hand and kisses it, gathers her back against him and says, “Thank you,” into her hair, by way of reply. He starts the movie up again just as Timberlake’s character initiates a mob dance.

 

“If you ever do that to me,” she warns, just a hint of teasing lacing her tone, “I will cut you.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” he chuckles. It’s Christmas, and he finally feels like Santa came on time this year.


End file.
